Eager Housewife: a smutty free-use romance (Filthy Scottish Kingpins Book 2)

10. Duncan

She’s watching television when I get home after a particularly long evening of figuring out some unanticipated and bloody problems. The living room is lit by side lamps, little pools of yellow light that highlight my wife’s brown hair. It’s casually pulled back in a ponytail as she watches—I’m not sure what it is—a romcom, maybe?

The pale pink strap of her satin nightdress is slipping off her shoulder, and she’s curled so cutely on the sofa. For a while I stand in the doorway looking at her. My perfect little forbidden free use wife.

Concern scratches at me, again, about what’ll happen when my daughter finds out. Could Ainsley be able to accept her new step-mother? Will Blythe ask for a divorce to try to save her friendship?

I don’t think I could grant it. A year seemed like a long time when Ainsley was planning her round-the-world trip, but now it doesn’t. A year with Blythe will be over in a blink, and potentially—I hope—she’ll have a newborn. We’ll have a baby.

That thought calms my nerves slightly. I can’t imagine Blythe not allowing me to see my child, and that means whatever happens, I’ll see Blythe.

My wife is special and I cannae resist her.

So I give up my skulking, and walk with deliberate slowness to the sofa. A lie. As though I’m not longing to be by her side.

“Oh, hiya!” Blythe looks up and makes space for me.

I accept the invitation wordlessly, settling into the middle of the couch then pulling her onto my lap.

“How was your day?” She smiles at me expectantly.

“Shh.” I touch her chin and smooth my thumb over her lips, turning her face away from mine. It’s always easier when her big blue eyes aren’t drowning me. “Keep watching your movie.”

She obeys, and I shift her small form on my lap, so her legs are apart.

My favourite part of the day is returning home to Blythe, and fantasising that she has been craving me all day as much as I have her. That and shoving her skirt up, and touching her pussy.

“Mine,” I whisper into her ear as I cup her pink little slit. And yes… She’s slick. My good girl watches the movie, and I look over her shoulder at her tits and dig my fingers deep into her soft velveteen passage. All mine. No one else has ever touched her here. Mine is the only cock to have claimed her.

And she’s my toy to give orgasms to.

I do. Over and over, I make her fall apart. I don’t let up. I growl with satisfaction when she comes for the first time. She tries to rub herself on my cock, and while I intend to only touch her and not take for myself, I’m weak. So I pull off her scant nightdress, and free my erection, bringing her down onto my cock. I move her on me, lifting her to slam her onto my length and ramming up from beneath.

She’s so sexy. It’s the little mewling noises that most do it for me.

I hold her waist, reach around, and as I keep fucking into her, the tip of my cock hitting her cervix and my hard-on gripped in her tight wet sheath, I stroke her again. The magic as I feel her come on my cock is just as strong this time as it is every time with us. It’s special, the chemistry between us.

When she’s collapsed back, her neck exposed, I graze my teeth along her jugular, and I don’t stop.

During the next orgasm, she sobs.

The shaking fills me with savage glee, but I really love the uncontrolled cries as she comes for the third time. I just ease off the pressure on her clit and start again, building her up patiently but insistently, kissing her neck and pinching her nipples until she babbles incoherently.

The fourth orgasm tears her apart. Melts her into a puddle on my lap.

My wife is a mess when the end credits of the movie scroll up the screen. She’s limp and utterly satisfied, and I finally let myself go. I punch up into her, relishing the cream from her multiple orgasms that has dripped all the way down to my balls.

Slamming her down hard onto my cock, once, twice, three times and allow myself to groan as I fill her up and breed her.

Then I carry my liquid wife upstairs and make her pee before she collapses. I hold her as I wash her in the shower, carefully rinsing her now puffy tender pink folds.

I clean her tenderly, and when I’ve dried her with a soft fluffy towel, and laid her on the bed and turned off the light, I intend to let her sleep. But something about the darkness is seductive. When I run my hand down her side, her breath hitches, and she shifts closer. We’re both totally naked, since we learned early on that clothes in bed would end up scrunched somewhere and not on our bodies. Except at weekends, when they serve as a useful reminder to me. So I allow myself the indulgence of rolling her under me and making love to her all over again. Face-to-face in the dark.

I mouth the words I want to tell her and don’t bother to keep my expression guarded as I do in the light. I try not to take her from the front too much now, because every day I’m closer to giving myself away. Or worse still, seeing something that reveals how she hates what I’m doing.

When we’ve both climaxed again, and I’ve cleaned her with a warm cloth this time, I hold her as she falls asleep.

I tell myself that if my daughter issued an ultimatum that it’s her or my wife, that I’d let Blythe go graciously. After all, it’s only supposed to be a convenient marriage for both of us.

But it’s a lie.

I fucking love Blythe so much. I love Ainsley too, but she has her own life to lead. But me? I couldn’t live without Blythe. I definitely couldn’t rest.

I gather her closer to me, my sleepy warm soft girl. Could I cope if she hated me for ruining her friendship?

She’d be so busy having my babies and taking my cock surely, she wouldn’t have any time for loathing. If she was coming constantly, how could she be angry?

That’s absolutely false, and I know it. But I draw comfort from the idea anyway. And I resolve to keep her even hornier and make her come more often.

My little free use housewife.

I want her love.